6. Garrison
SIX
GARRISON
I gave her more paralytic for her own good. I got no idea when this mother fucker is gonna ambush me, or try to, and the last thing I need on my hands when he does is Carsyn Beckett asking a million questions or trying to kick me in the fucking face. No thanks.
I’m surprised at the shit she pulled after her shower, trying to seduce me. I know Carsyn. She’s likely thinking her pussy is her ticket out of here, but she’s wrong. The thing she doesn’t even realize yet, either, is that she wants me to have her. She ain’t even offering herself up as a way to get out as much as she’s doing it to get off. Carsyn has been aching for dick forever. When I finally give it to her, it’s not gonna be because she’s asking, or because my cock is her ticket to freedom. That much I do know.
The guns have been loaded and ready for a day. I’ve installed the wall mounts and purchased the extra chains. I have supplies, the truck has gas, Carsyn is out. I’m fucking ready.
“What’s going on?” Carsyn calls, making my spine stick straight.
How in the world is that woman still hollering? Snatching the bag of supplies from the kitchen counter—a bag I’d planned on leaving in her room in just a minute—I head in. She’s in bed, where I left her, but trying like hell to slither out, one leg inching toward the edge. Her hair is splayed out on the pillow the way I left it, and even though she’s glaring and practically paralyzed, my dick gets a little thrill looking at her.
“Quit trying to move before you hurt yourself.” I gave her a little less this time so it would be easier for her to come out of it, but now that she’s in and out of consciousness and hasn’t lost her voice, I’m regretful. Should have given her the full dose, goddamn it.
“Why d-did, why did you…” she sputters.
I look at my watch. In a few more minutes, she won’t be able to speak. Let’s hope this asshole don’t run up on us before then.
“Lie back now, I can’t have you in here making noise,” I tell her, dropping a bag next to the bed. “When you wake up and get your wits about you, this bag has some food and other things in it.”
“W wh-why?” she stammers, her words breathy and distant. If I had to guess, she’s got maybe one or two more words in her before those drugs eat up her ability to speak. Thank fuck.
Carsyn is smart. She understands what that bag represents. That represents her life until someone else comes, in the event I’m dead.
“Just lie here, alright? Quit fuckin’ around and moving. Pretty soon, you aren’t gonna be able to move so you’ll be stuck in whatever position you get yourself in.” I grab her ankle and right her legs, helping her find a comfortable position to stay in.
Outside, there’s a noise. A thud of sorts, or maybe even a car door. I reach over the bed and pull the comforter over her feet. Pushing hair off her face I cradle her jaw in one hand and say, “I’ll be back.”
Locking her inside her room, I move through the house quickly until I’m at the back door.
That mother fucker was foolish and ignorant enough to drive here. Or that arrogant, maybe. I guess it’s possible he believes he’s just that much smarter than everyone because he was, for a short amount of time, able to deceive the great Forrest Conway.
I’ve always been smarter than Forrest, and I’ve always had a pulse on the underground, on what’s really going on. Though I’m prepared for it, my life won’t end today.
His will.
My phone vibrates, and I duck back into the laundry room and accept the call, answering without a word. He knows what to do. “Closing in,” Valdez confirms. “The bag stocked?”
I don’t waste time telling him those aren’t the weapons I would’ve chosen. Hell, I think I’d be fine with a rope and a knife. I peer past the cornflower curtain out the window next to the door. “Yes,” I reply solemnly.
“See what you can get from him,” Valdez says as I move through the house toward the bathroom at the end of the hall. The window in there gives a great view of the side yard, and if I was a guessing man, I’d say that’s where he is.
“Remember, we need to know if he is in contact with the Vulture?—”
“Fine,” I reply, ending the call. No more time to chat about how I have to keep some motherfucker safe. I’ll do my job, but outside of that, I’m not making any promises.
Silently, I move through the house to the front door, reaching for the pistol tucked into my boot. Drawn and ready, I watch through the peephole as he makes his plan. I see it in his eyes, the moment he decides he ain’t gonna try and knock and reason his way in. He may not know who I really am, but I know who he is. And I can’t fucking wait for this.
His shadow drops over the dining table as he passes the side of the house, heading straight for the porch around the back door. Taking in a lungful, I hold my breath and stand motionless and silent behind the door, gun drawn, and wait.
The knob rattles and I stare down at it, watching the flecks of dark on the gold shift as he twists it, over and over. There’s a massive crunch of wood against wood as the doorframe splits, splinters flying as it's kicked off the hinges, right into the toes of my boots.
He draws on me but the gun is skittering across the old linoleum in the mudroom before he can make good on his plan. Because my arm is raised in advance, and I pistol whip him before sending my fist across his jaw and my knee to his groin. The steel toe of my boots goes straight to his ribs next. Three times, actually.
“Hello, Officer Davis,” I smile down at bloodied, battered and discombobulated Liam Davis, the most crooked, sneaky shit that ever called himself a Buffalo Trails sheriff.